


Don't play with your food!

by momopichu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Meetings, Food Fight, M/M, SEPera, implied oral fixation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momopichu/pseuds/momopichu
Summary: The first time Jack meets Gabe, it's an awkward affair that quickly turns into something more.





	Don't play with your food!

**Author's Note:**

> For Dario
> 
> I had the honour of pinch hitting for Dario and their beautiful artwork!  
Find them on twitter here: @nonearmlefttit ( https://twitter.com/nonearmlefttit )  
And their art here: ( https://twitter.com/nonearmlefttit/status/1162529406037794816?s=20 )

If there’s anything Jack’s learnt about the Soldier Enhancement Program; it’s that it’s marginally more boring than being in Bumfuck Nowhere, Indiana. Which was saying a lot.

Other than the usual three-meals-a-day, training exercises, and getting-loaded-with-questionable-chemicals, there just wasn’t much else in terms of entertainment. The schedule wasn’t as packed either, which left a lot of room for Jack and his fellow soldiers to find ways to amuse themselves – not that there were a lot of ways in a highly secured government facility. Oddly enough, the only worth noting recreational item seemed to be the treadmill, and even that had been overused.

Death by boredom.

The world was going to hell in the Omnic War and Jack was going to die from boredom. As if on cue, the bell calling for midday meal rang throughout the compound. It wasn’t like any school bell either. School bells sounded like bad life choices and exhausted teachers telling students they weren’t dismissed until they said so. This bell sounded like cement halls around metal bars. Which was pretty apt he supposed.

Standing, Jack tossed his well-worn pack of cards back into its equally well-worn box back under his mattress and stood. With a crack of his neck and a shake of his broad shoulders, the blond joined the other SEP members filing down the hall to the canteen.

Conversation rumbled in the air, stilted by the lack of anything to say. Anything that needed to be said or that were said for the sake of entertainment had already been exhausted at the beginning of SEP. Some had resorted to evening ‘truth and dare’ for something to do – although Jack had yet to attend any of them.

Getting his food was a blank moment in his mind. The point between picking up his tray and getting it filled with the military’s Michelin star nutrient slop has become so habitual that Jack can’t quite recall if the little tapping of his finger was something he was doing today or something he did last week. The feeling doesn’t abate as he sat down at his bench. 

He does notice he’s alone on this bench, though.

Not a significant thing. But Jack had been hoping for someone at least to share in his boredom. He eyed the gooey white mass in front of him and wondered what he did in his past life to be served this unappetising mass of goop. Its chemically made, as far as Jack knew. Mass produced in some large vat behind the kitchens and tailored for their breed of experimental soldiers. It was supposed to have everything they could possibly need, from nutrients and vitamins down to the building blocks for their constantly changing bodies.

The taste was…quite something though.

At best it tasted like baby antibiotics with slushy powder, at worse it tasted like Brussel sprouts. Probably. Who can say? Jack can’t quite recall the last time he had Brussel sprouts. Or seen anything Outside Outside since being catered off to this facility, for that matter.

There was just something strange; about standing in the outdoors here and the outdoors of say, Bloomington City. Here, the outdoors felt like an illusion – a mass of mountains and sparse trees that might as well have been CGIs before a green screen. It made Jack uneasy every time he stepped out, as if he expected the scene to just collapse around him.

But – wait. Where was he going with this – he had a point. Somewhere.

Ah. Right.

The white goop. The white goop meant to help strengthen super soldiers. That was either fully and whole-heartedly tasteless, or tasting like all the characters of a shonen anime trying to stuff ingredients into one pot. That white goop.

He stared at the tray in front of him, debating if missing a meal was better than experiencing the taste-roulette that was meal times. Aside, Jack knew it wouldn’t change anything. He was stuck in this facility for the foreseeable future; at least until the Government or the Scientists deemed them ready and sent them back to the front lines. He had to eat sooner or later – might as well take a deep breath and dive in headfirst.

But instead of picking up his spoon, Jack did the impulse thing and stuck his finger in the slop. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as slimy as he expected and instead reminded him of creamy mashed potatoes. He stirred the goop with his finger. Then lifted it, and for a moment, stared at the white mass gathered on the tip. With a nonchalance matching plain walls, he placed the entirety – finger and all – into his mouth.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to play with your food?”

Jack blinked.

A man was standing in front of his table, with hips cocked in that holier-than-thou way and arms folded across a broad chest. Where he came from, Jack had no clue. The only thing that he did notice, was the printed ‘24’ on the man’s shirt.

Shit.

Everyone knew 24. You’d have to be living under a rock – or dead – if you didn’t. He had the best performance score out of all the SEP soldiers and some super high rank before being admitted into the SEP. He was also a lone-wolf and stickler for protocol. Rumour has it that he could pummel you into the dirt ten times before breakfast without the warden catching a whiff of what transpired – not that Jack doubted the last, of course. Though, now that Jack was actually thinking, there was something the rumours missed. One important detail that Jack was silently cursing with all his being.

No one ever said 24 was a good-looking guy. As if that wasn’t obvious on first impressions. And not just good-looking like Prom-king Randy back in high school had been. With dark skin as rich as deep coca, a well-tended beard and eyes quirked in Jack’s direction, he’d look good enough to eat. 24 also had the confidence to show for it; the kind that one can feel on his shoulders and in the slight shift of weight. He was rocking the SEP skin-tight shirts and boardshorts now, one could only imagine what he would look like in Prada, or something.

Jack removed his finger from his mouth and swallowed – for once not registering the taste. “Hey – uh…there—”

A napkin was roughly shoved in his face.

“Clean up, rookie.” 24 growled. Then, curiously, a small smile ticked at the corner of his lips. “Unless you want everyone to know you have a thing for sticking things in your mouth.”

Jack’s mouth fell agape. But before he could form a reply, 24 was already turning and moving away. He had a certain swagger to his steps, the slight barely-there swing of his ass accentuated by the sway of loose military shorts. It only served to infuriate Jack further.

“I do not –!” Jack snapped, standing. The table jostled with his action, creating a loud bang that could be heard around the room. But the words in his mouth fell short, stuttering on the tip of his tongue and flooding his pale cheeks with a deep red. Around the canteen, people were stopping to stare – this was probably the most entertaining thing to have happened since the second week of SEP!

“Could’ve fooled me,” 24 threw over a shoulder, barely twisting to address Jack. As if the other soldier was beneath his notice. “Try not to let that fixation of yours get away will you – there are people who love watching.”

Maybe it was simple anger at the implication behind the other’s words. An embarrassing declaration, made in front of a canteen full of soldiers with untold opinions.

Or maybe it was the way 24 seemed so high and mighty. So uncaring about anything other than the truly important, that made Jack want to see him crack – even in some stupid miniscule way.

Or maybe Jack had been itching for something to happen. Something crazy to occur in this boring place displaced in the middle of nowhere. And that itch had become a need; a need so great that he was willing to try just about anything to lift the veil of mundanity.

Either way, when someone squeezed a pasty ball of something sloppy into his tight knuckled hand, Jack did the first thing that his mind clicked with ‘small-and-questionably-item’.

He threw it at the back of 24’s head.

It made a sort of wet smacking sound. The kind you would definitely hear even if you were occupied and turn to look. The gasp that spread through the canteen like a wave was only rivalled by the silence that quickly followed as 24’s shoulders just kind of… froze.

Jack expected 24 to turn and glare at him. And he was not disappointed; 24 did so with the theatrical stiff back and menacing hand swipe over the back off his head. For a moment the other man inspected the wet goop in his palm.

From across the canteen, someone whooped and clapped.

Jack didn’t know who they were. Only that their cheering was cut off by an equally loud smack of slop that collided right on their forehead, jerking them back a step. Jack had a second to marvel the dead accuracy of the shot before his instincts screamed.

He ducked – not quick enough. White goop exploded on his shoulder, splatters flying into the side of his face – a stray bit landing under his ear. Jack dropped and rolled. Around him, fellow soldiers did the same. Someone shoved a tray full of nutrient slop his way.

Jack grabbed it – wincing only slightly – at the less than perfect grip and hurled it across the room.

The shot went wide as 24 dodged, hitting someone behind him.

Well then.

The next thing Jack knew, everyone was shouting to everyone, friends and fellow soldiers alike – orders or callouts made at ear-deafening pitches that only adrenaline spiked men and women could achieve. Tables were turned, used as shields and barriers as white slop began raining diagonally across the canteen. Some sided with Jack, others with 24. There was also the random third party, rogue faction, and confused loner.

One such slop ball collided with the said loner soldier’s stomach with enough force to cause Jack to wince. They went tumbling backwards, tripping over an overturned table and falling with their legs in the air. They didn’t get up again.

If Jack ever wondered what a food fight would look like with professionals in the play, he got his answer. Absolute, chaos. Each throw packed a punch, aimed with the precision only soldiers trained with real armed weapons were. Strategies ran wild; flanks were made as quickly as they were countered, trays of slop were seized or raided from. Someone tried to bundle three trays worth of nutrient goo into their shirt and lobbed that into a table fortress of other soldiers. The resulting explosion and yells of disgust were Jack’s only indication of their success.

He himself was a little busy.

His lunge turned into a belly slide across the now slippery canteen floor, the smack of slime just following an inch behind. Out the corner of his eye, Jack could see 24 swear loudly and point to somewhere behind him. He didn’t wait to see what the other soldier was pointing to. He breaststroked across the floor and usurped someone else’s ammunition of food – their protest lost in the chorus of other noises. Hefting the two portions of slop in each hand, Jack threw both in quick succession.

The first hit 24 in the valley between his pecs, enough that Jack could see him wheeze from the impact. The second went off course; hitting 24 right in the ear.

The look of pure murder in those gold flecked eyes would forever haunt Jack’s dreams – if not for the tell-tale whiz by his ear. A quick sidestep saved his back from a tray swung too close by another soldier. They were unrepentant, lunging forward with the flimsy piece of metal as if they could cleave Jack in two. The look in their eyes were wild, a maddening kind of glee in their depths like a child set free at a park. Jack didn’t have time to ponder this new development; if it was the culmination of weeks – if not months – of pent up stir-craziness that was finally being unleashed. He took a step back, and another, and another. A quick parry on the last hit saved his nose–

24 came flying across the canteen, drop kicking the other soldier into oblivion. It was as majestic as it was clumsy; Jack was given an all-access-pass view to that sculpture of a man landing elbow first on grease-slicked floor. Everything from the comical way the attacked soldier flew to the other end to the way 24’s body seemed to fall in slow-mo to the ground, shuddering from impact, a grunt escaping him that didn’t do any favours for Jack’s wandering mind. But only for a second, and then 24 was scrambling to his feet – and that was when Jack noticed the pasty balls of nutrient slop he held in each hand.

“Oh no—”

“You’re mine!”

“Can’t we talk this out?” Jack tried, backing up.

“After this?” 24 snapped, gesturing to his ear. He laughed then, a whole-body shudder as dramatic as a cartoon villain. “Hell no.”

Jack had a second to react as both of 24’s hands swung. He dropped to the floor, landing hard on his butt as 24 clapped his hands together, the balls of slop in his hands exploding from the force. Not waiting for the other to recover, Jack twisted and thrust himself under the mess of tables that was the centre of the canteen. Maybe he could get away if he just—

“Oh no you don’t!”

Hands clamped around Jack’s ankles, pulling him backwards. His pale fingers scrabbled on the slippery ground, unable get a purchase. Jack must look like a fish out of water, trying to wriggle his way out of certain demise, which only added to the effect when 24 lorded over him, having pulled Jack back between his legs.

He knelt over Jack then, hand tangled in the neckline of the blond’s shirt. In his free hand, 24 waved another ball of slop.

“Consider this payment for my ear and this mess,” he growled.

There’s a certain moment when one realises that they aren’t getting out of ‘a situation’ and submits to the inevitable. Jack had proclaimed that line crossed and readied himself for a face full of disgusting lab-made-slop when something out the corner of his eye caught his attention. Well, catching his attention was an overstatement. It was a blur of an action in a chaotic room full of other blurs of action, only that this blur caught Jack in the way the mind notices and something in the back of the head just screams danger.

Jack swung his leg up and hooked it around 24’s waist, one pull, and 24 was toppling to the ground. The flying boomerang of a tray sailed by their heads, barely nicking the small crest of 24’s military cut.

“What the f—”

“On your five o’clock,” Jack cut in. He couldn’t move, pinned under 24 – damn what the hell did this guy do in his downtime? He was all hard lines of muscle against Jack’s body, the sharpened edge of a stone block against plushie cushion.

“I see ‘em.” 24 growled, flinching as slime balls splashed against the tables covering them. “Got any ammo?”

“What is this? The front?” But even as Jack replied, his hand found 24’s, pushing a hastily wad up mess of a slime ball into his palm.

24 nailed their attacker with one clean shot to the head.

“Watch your left too!” Jack snapped.

24 ducked, narrowly dodging the strike aimed at himself. Then he rolled off Jack, pressing his back against an overturned table. Jack joined him.

“So.” Jack yelled over the noise around them.

“So?” 24 snapped.

They both flinched as something shuddered against their cover.

“Truce?” Jack asked. Hell, he didn’t even know if it would work. Up until this point, 24 had looked as if he wanted to kill Jack. But saving him – even if it was a food fight – must’ve counted for something, or at least Jack hoped it did. Something must’ve shown on his face for a smirk stretched across the other soldier’s face and he shoved Jack.

“Truce.” 24 growled. “But I’ll get you back later for my ear, blondie!”

“Aw come on!” He shoved 24 back. “And it’s Jack – not blondie!”

“Gabriel.” 24 retorted. “Now try and keep up, blondie!”

Jack grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue. They had bigger fish to fry right now; namely a canteen full of stir-crazed, adrenaline fuelled, other soldiers armed to the teeth with chemical slime. Sure, their alliance was a little wonky right now, but there was no better way to forge a friendship than in the ‘fires’ of a food fight, right?

The next hour was a mass of swirling colours and ear-deafening roars that was both disorienting and yet, made perfect sense. A few times, Jack was aware of the ground guards and scientists trying to stop the food fight but were promptly ignored or quickly taken out. He didn’t know, didn’t pay too much attention other than to the feel of Gabriel beside him.

And when the canteen’s nutrient supply had run out, turning what was somewhat organised fights into close-quarters free-for-alls, they became practically joined at the hip as they fought, stumbling against tables and trying to knock other soldiers unconscious.

Gabriel could take Jack out in the chaos, if he wanted.

But he never did. Instead, where Jack was the unrelenting force, a front-line piece that took and doled out punches and what little slime balls remaining at an unforgiving pace, Gabriel was the tactician. He chose his targets, took out those Jack couldn’t. He covered Jack’s sides from hits that the blond would otherwise have left open. Together they protected each other, one watching the other’s back, and fought and fought until the last of the greasiest brawl in history drew to a close.

And so, the great food fight of SEP ended with the two of them as the only ones left standing – everyone else either unconscious or nursing bruises and hurts. They didn’t come out unscathed though; Jack had a black eye and dislocated shoulder, while Gabriel had a shallow cut on his left cheek – a result of someone getting too close with a broken tray – and various other ouches.

Exhaustion caught up to them then, and both men dropped to the floor, backs against an upturned table. For a moment neither said a word, too busy catching their breaths. Too busy, feeling the exhaustion of an afternoon well spent after weeks – months – of boredom. It was definitely a day to remember and the cabin fever that had pressed on everyone since their admission surely had lifted – that, Jack could say with confidence.

“Hey.”

The blond looked over. Gabriel had his head tipped back over the edge of the table, sweat and slop residues clinging to his dark skin, creating a gleaming coat across the surface. The blood on his cheek had dried, or at least some of it had. Without thinking, Jack reached over to wipe away the leftovers. Gabriel swatted his hand away.

“Shoo, I don’t need a mother hen.”

“Sure, but you need somebody.” The words had come out impulsively. Jack blinked unsure where they had burst forth from but unable to retract the words.

But Gabriel only chuckled.

“Are you implying something?” he asked.

“No!” Jack snapped. Then again… “Maybe. Whatever. We made a good team just now.”

“Huh.” Gabriel sank lower, laying down on the ground. He seemed not to care that the grease left over from the fight was seeping into his once meticulously styled cut. For a moment he seemed to be deep in thought. “Fine. Yeah. Partners sound good. I’m still not going to help you with that fixation of yours, though.”

Jack did the only thing he could think of then, he kicked Gabriel in the side – not enough to bruise, but just enough to hurt.

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?” Jack grumbled.

“Nope, and you just reminded me…”

“Of what?”

A hand flew into Jack’s face, covered in slop from who knows where. It smooshed with enough force for some goop to enter the blond’s nose. Jack broke away choking and spitting, face red from the slap and nose weeping nutrient goo. Gabriel was in hysterics beside him, clutching his stomach and nearly rolling in his mirth.

In a second, Jack was straddling him, trying to smear what little goop left he could into Gabriel’s face. The other soldier only continued to laugh harder, dark hands circling around Jack’s wrist to stop the blond from making more of a mess. Not that Jack was trying very hard; he was exhausted. Super soldier or no, an afternoon of chaos tended to do that to someone. He landed beside Gabriel, smearing one last handful of slop grease on his face as he went. Only to have Gabriel lick his hand as he did so.

“Yuck! And you call me disgusting!” Jack protested

“I didn’t call you disgusting.” Gabriel grinned.

“You implied it!”

“Did not.”

Jack grumbled under his breath, stopping only when Gabriel nudged him.

“Hey.” He said.

“What.”

“Thanks.”

Jack quirked a brow.

“For what?” He asked.

Gabriel shrugged, but the smile on his face softened to something vulnerable and a little…uncertain?

“For this, I guess.” Gabriel said.

“For getting you into a food fight, getting slop in your ear and slime all over you?” Jack asked, confused.

“Well, not that…” Gabriel hummed. “But…um…Let’s just say I was looking for – a fight – when I came up to you just now.”

“Oh.” Jack was silent, deep in thought. “Oh!”

“Yeah,” Gabriel winced. “Sorry if I was…an ass.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. I think, we all needed a good food fight in the end.”

They shared a smile; Gabriel’s small but relieved, Jack’s open and kind. Who knew that their first meeting was caused by a mutual sense of boredom and desire for something crazy. It wasn’t all hand holding and daisies, but surely, this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

(Many, _many_ years later)

Jack sat alone in his room with silvered hair and deep etched wrinkles around his eyes. Scars interrupted the flow of the wrinkles, the largest of which stretched from forehead, across his face, and down to his chin. Absently, he scratched the old wound, no longer painful, but still numb.

Watchpoint: Gibraltar was finally quiet; the first time in what would be forever, he supposed.

With everything settled and enemies vanquished, everyone had departed – to return to loved ones or to old duties. That left Jack as the only man – living soul – on the base. Even the AIs had departed, transferred to other corners of the world. But for Jack, he had no home outside of base to go back to, no loved one waiting for him that desired his presence. His whole life he had devoted to his work, always revolving within its orbit and unable to leave.

Even after his apparent death, Jack had maintained the constant action of working. Cleaning his rifle, planning missions, checking supplies, there had always been something to do, but now…there was just nothing.

It wasn’t the quiet in the abandoned base that bothered him. Jack was used to quiet, having had his fair share of moments of silence. No, it was the lack of anything to do that came with it. No more missions, no more enemies to fight, nothing to prepare for, and nothing to look forward to. He had spent his whole life on the field and what did Jack get in return?

Boredom.

Not in the sense of lack of interest in anything to do. But in the lack of doing anything with purpose, anything with value that could make him feel fulfilled – like the way he used to be.

Jack sighed. At the rate things were going, he might as well get used to it and call Boredom an old friend – at least it would be around, even if no one else was.

Just then, the overhead speakers blipped. It wasn’t an alarm, nor an alert. In fact, it reminded Jack of old bells in halls filed to the brim of people yelling what was being for lunch. The food-bell, as he had come to call it, was Athena’s departing measure to make sure the old soldier ate. It wasn’t graceful, as all other things related to the AI was, but it was effective. At least it got Jack back into the schedule of having three meals a day and some semblance of balance.

Getting up from his table, Jack swiped away the holographic projection of cards – his old set had crumbled and given up sometime in the Omnic war – and rotated his shoulders. The old joints cracked in protest as Jack left his room and made his way to the mess hall.

There were no echoing steps of other people, just his muted foot falls.

There was no chatter, just the hum of machinery – the barebones of keeping this building alive.

Jack made it to the mess hall feeling as if he had slipped into another world. It’s a strange feeling, realising that you were the only thing alive and moving for miles around. Like the click of a moment, when everyone suddenly looks away and one is left standing in the maelstrom of everyone else’s absence of notice.

Another sigh escaped Jack.

He made his way to the kitchen and removed a plate from the overhead cabinets. Settling it down on the counter, Jack added a packet of MREs to his set up. Routine, organised. Nothing out of order, and probably never will be.

A snip with the scissors, a squeeze of the pack, and out came a lump of white mush onto Jack’s plate. The sense of nostalgia nearly slapped the old soldier with whiplash. For a moment, he stared at the nutrient lump, probably also manufactured in a lab in some questionable area of the world. And then he folded himself over the counter, a hand over his lips as he muffled deep chuckles from a throat unused to laughter.

Who knew that with the return of boredom, so too would return the ever-disgusting slop that was shit military food.

Jack did the impulse thing then and stuck his finger into the goop. It had some give, more than the slop back in SEP did, and a yellowish tinge to its colour. It actually looked like mashed potatoes, if Jack did say so himself. He scooped some up and brought it to eye level.

As far as he could tell, there was nothing out of the ordinary with it, but Jack had learnt early on that looks could be deceiving. For all he knew, he had entered into another game of taste-slots and this slop was probably going to taste like Brussel Sprouts. Yeesh.

But whatever. The war didn’t raise a coward and Jack had to eat. So he stuffed the slop, finger and all, into his mouth.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to play with your food?”

Jack choked on the bare fingerful in his mouth. He had expected something to be honest, maybe the disgusting taste of the shit on his tongue, but not the voice of someone he knew – and thought would never see again. He thumped a fist against his chest, trying to dislodge the stray bit of slop that had flew down his windpipe in excitement. A hand came to aid him, rubbing his back in slow circles until Jack finally caught his breath.

The old soldier twisted against the counter. And there beside him, stood Gabriel Reyes. The former-Talon mercenary was in a hoodie and sweats, his favourite beanie from his Blackwatch days hiding his scalp. Gone was the mask and leather coat ensemble that he wore when they fought; if anything, the other man looked as if he was making a friendly house call – with his hips cocked against the counter and arms folded over his broad chest.

“Gabe…” Jack wheezed. There were tears in his eyes; whether from nearly choking or seeing his old friend again, he could not say. But Gabriel did not wait, instead stuffing a napkin into Jack’s pale and wrinkled palm.

“Clean up,” he growled. “We’re going on 50 years since I’ve known you and I can’t believe you still have a habit of sticking things in your mouth.”

“Well…” Jack began, hesitant, soft. “You were 90% of my impulse control.”

Blue eyes inspected the napkin in his hands for a lack of anything better to do. He still didn’t know why Gabe was back, even after all that had happened. Their life had been a roller coaster ride – to put it simply. Even though they were together, they had never been officially together together. Not in the way people expected two people to be. And instead of making it official, they had fought each other to the point of nearly killing.

Jack wasn’t ashamed to admit that it was not to brightest moments of his life. But in the final battle, they had both laid the other bare, made apologies and left on…pleasant terms. In all honesty, Jack had expected Gabriel to never want to see him again. Leave the past in the past and all…

A sigh drew him from his thoughts, but it was not from Jack’s lips that the sigh had slipped. Gabriel scratched the back of his head, uncertainty in the lines of his body as he shifted from foot to foot.

“Heh. Yeah. You always had shit control.” He chuckled. “But I shouldn’t laugh.” He dropped his hand then and looked Jack right in the eye. “Because you were my impulse control too.”

An uncomfortable silence followed the statement. Gabriel did not stop fidgeting, almost as if he expected Jack to chase him away for the statement. But why would Jack do that – when the only thing he wanted to do was get Gabriel to stay?

“So…” Jack swallowed.

“So.” Gabriel huffed.

“I’m not starting a food fight with you.”

A chuckle escaped Gabriel and he nudged Jack. The old soldier did not miss the small smile on his face and he retaliated with an even bigger smile.

“Would be something, though, wouldn’t it?” Gabriel asked.

Jack quirked a brow. “You bored or something?”

Gabriel shrugged, a devilish grin stretching over his dark features. “Maybe.”

“Tell you what.” Jack hummed in thought. “We can go out and get something to eat—”

“I’m not eating in public with your finger-licking, ass.” Gabriel interrupted.

“—and we can talk about where we go from here.” Jack finished with a pointed look.

For a moment, Gabriel was quiet, fingers tapping away at his chin in thought. Finally though, the man stood and gestured for Jack to follow.

“I know a place pretty close by.” Gabriel said. “Serves good food – well, good enough for our purposes anyway.” His grin stretched, and – was Jack imagining it – seemed to grow teethier. “We can also talk about that fixation of yours. I might have an idea of how to—”

Gabriel never finished his sentence, a glob of white sloppy mess having made contact with his face.


End file.
